Of Things Lost to the War
by Ending-Daley
Summary: In the middle of The Capitol a little girl hid, her mother had no choice but to abandon her child and her father, well, her father didn't know. In other words, Haymitch finds out he has a kid, and then endeavours to find her in the middle of the war torn Capitol. *set during Mockingjay. Spoiler Warning applies.*


_I don't really know what this is and I feel as though I need to apologize in advance. But, please, do read, let me know what you think. _

* * *

**Of Things Lost to the War**

_Your daughter has a father._

Her nightmares pressed, prodded, and poked. The voices were synonymous with strangers in her head; taunting as they soared above her, circling her thoughts, reminding her to never forget.

Her life, the life of her daughter rested in the hands of strangers.

She fought against the words, the rumours.

Effie gave birth to her petite daughter in a desolate part of The Capitol's large hospital. Her daughter was supposed to be born in the quiet security of her mother's apartment, not in a hospital with knowing eyes and talking walls. It was her sister who dragged her there, worried that her labour pains were irregular and a sign of danger. The doctor was discrete when offered money. He saw nothing. He did not know who they were. He delivered her baby at three in the morning, cleaned her up, and walked out of the room.

The girl was locked away, not banished from her mother, but the world. The girl no longer existed outside of her mother's apartment and her aunt's inquiry. Delphi, in the early days, escorted them out to the family's country home, where the little girl could learn to walk on grass, instead of concrete. Effie went on with her vibrant life, putting her pregnancy behind her, pretending, to those who knew, that it never really happened. Some, though, knew she had been born. Knew she existed and walked the earth, some, for five years kept quiet, threatening Effie Trinket's calm.

She understood too much to let her daughter be known. She couldn't simply make everyone accept her child, until they knew her father they would not completely accept who she was.

Blood lineage was something she could not make up. Everyone who was anyone knew the intricate details of each other's lives. If she played it off as the outcome of a one night stand she would be expected to take out a blood test. If she lied, she would be simply, found out.

If it came out, and it would in due course with The Capitol's bloodlust for honesty, her daughter's name would wind up in the reaping bowl once she hit appropriate age. Not only that, but, she would _never_ be safe.

Etta Jane Trinket sat on the edge of her mother's nightmares, feet dangling over the side as she perched on a cliff, unawares. Etta hummed to herself, the usual lullaby that her mother sang into her ear as she stroked her hair.

The girl was innocent, flowers and princesses, she even once, recently, begged for a unicorn. She was unaware of the danger in her life, and yet she understood. She was unacquainted with her true identity looming behind her in the shadows, daring to push her off.

At four-and-a-half-years-old her misbegotten identity, her quiet life, her small existence, taught her to hide. Not, run towards the fear, the anger, the loud voices and her mother's tears. Her silent, protected existence taught her to stay in her room the night Peacekeepers came and took her mother away.

…

Even in her torture Effie Trinket did not ask after her little girl. They had not mentioned the child and she would not be held accountable for Peacekeepers storming her house, again, to collect her. She was a smart little girl, she would be alright; Effie hoped. They had neighbours, nice, gentle people, people who wouldn't be interrogated in the name of rebellion. Her family wouldn't know to search for the girl, her sister maybe, but Delphi, could be selfish; their family set in their capitalistic ways.

Effie was a traitor, therefore Etta was one too.

Some days they beat her so hard she bled, others they just took a knife to her flesh. She was doused with water, kept shivering and cold. They liked to counter their attacks, freezing her some days while taking an open flame to her on others.

She didn't call out, didn't cry, scream or whimper. Not when they were there anyway. Some nights she cried in the permanent darkness. Day or night, she did not know. She counted the changing of the guards. That was time for her now.

Some days she wished they took Etta, as well, at least then she would have her daughter to hold at night. She could hardly be that selfish for too long, staring off into the distance she knew she did not want her daughter there. She knew her arms were black and blue, her face red, her chest scarred with burn marks. Her hair was in tatters, real hair, her wig was gone the second they pushed her to the floor of her own apartment.

They were too impatient to start their punishment.

She knew Etta could hear them, she tried not to cry out, but she knew her own yelling would have roused her daughter if theirs had not. She thanked some remarkable God that no one knew of her daughter. The Peacekeepers came, they collected her, and they looked no further into her home, believing that she was the only one there.

Etta was safe.

She was free of this brutality. Her little body would not have held out as long as her mother's had. They probably would have killed her before she had given in, just to break her mother.

…

Alone in The Capitol, Etta sat in the middle of her mother's bed, sniffling into her arm. She had cried for hours, days, leaning against the front door in a hope that her mother would return. The sound of people in the hallway would scare her back into the recesses of the apartment. She would curl into a ball on Effie's bed, her little body formed around a stuffed red fox wearing a blue coat. She was Etta's favourite, a teddy she dubbed Beatrice.

She was all alone, that fact dawning on her when she watched Peacekeepers beat her mother from her ajar bedroom door. Etta didn't know what to do, but she knew her mother did not want her to step out of her room, not when there were strangers in her house.

So she stayed where she was, falling asleep under her bed before she searched her home in hope that her mother had been returned.

Effie wasn't there, a bloodstain remained in the entry way, something the girl did not know how to deal with. The wig though, lavender, Etta's favourite colour, was picked up in the child's hands and returned to its place in her mother's collection.

She smothered herself in her mother's blankets, seeking out the warmth, the familiar smell. With eyes closed, Etta pretended that her mother was beside her singing a gentle lullaby and stroking her hair.

…

She listened to Peeta scream and Johanna yell, their voices were a sick comfort to her ears; they were alive, they were there. She hadn't seen them. Their voices were distorting with the force they put on their lungs. But, she knew they were there.

She was alone, but they were _there_.

…

There were days were she forgot to hold onto reality, days were she slipped into a hallucination of her past. Images of Etta as a newborn, fast asleep in her arms. The simultaneous joy that accompanied her child's growth. Haymitch Abernathy; the days she hated him, the days she loved him and they days she wished she had left him. There was no leaving the games, no leaving your companioning mentor. She had wished for a promotion, to get away from the man who had unknowingly fathered her child.

She hated him, when her eyes focused in her dark cell. Grey brick taunted her, refused to induce her imagination, only fuelling her hate. _He _left her there. _He_ did not warn her. _He_ could have changed the whole outcome of this situation. _He doesn't know about his daughter_. She cursed herself on those days, her hatred for Haymitch turning inwards on herself.

She could almost feel her eyes roll into the back of her head, as unconsciousness moved to claim her again. Effie spent more days than not unconscious, lately. She thought months had passed, years possibly. It felt like eternity. She knew she would never make it out of there, never see her daughter again, never know if she was safe.

Etta was her only concern.

Etta was always her only concern.

Even as she faded from the real world, as her mind drifted from her weak body; her small bones and worn skin, she thought about her daughter. She was tired, so tired, so worn out, she was starving, her tongue was swollen, parched.

She was ready to give up, to embrace death.

She thought she had. Escaped, embraced the light, crossed over to the other side. When she opened her eyes she expected the spectacular heavens children asked about; fluffy clouds, white and gold. Heaven in the pictures, as artists had captured it through word and graphite, paper and paint.

Effie let go.

…

Her eyes fluttered open, lids heavy, as her sight blurred in the bright room. Her head was pounding, her limbs thick. She felt groggy, unsure of her place. The lights were florescent, the walls grey. She thought of her cell instantly, dread settling in her stomach. She squeezed her eyes shut, body growing tense as she felt tears prick at her eyes.

The door swung open, the latch clicking loudly in her ears. Her body jumped, her eyes squeezing tighter. She would not look at them, she would not allow them the knowledge that they had beaten her, revived her, disallowed her exit from this earth.

'Miss Trinket? Are you in pain?' A tender voice called out, young and caring, gentle in his enunciation. She wasn't in pain, no. Nothing hurt above a headache. She pealed her eyes open a second time, blinking at the lights until she focused.

There was a young man standing at the foot of her bed, wearing a white coat over a grey jumpsuit. More surprisingly, she was in a bed, soft sheets, a pillow. When was the last time she felt comfort like that? It wasn't the best she had ever experienced but it was a stark contrast between sleeping on the cold hard floor and a too stiff matrass.

'Where am I?' She croaked, her throat dry, still parched. Her first concern was Etta but she did not want to be tricked by The Capitol's Peacekeepers. They could be lulling her into a false sense of security, they liked doing that, before they pulled her legs out from underneath her and beat her harder than she could have imagined.

They would not use her daughter against her.

'District 13,' he answered with a smile, he knew about her ordeal, he saw her injuries. He probably thought this was good news to hear. 'You're with the rebels now, Miss Trinket, you're safe.' He had a young face, probably no older than twenty. His eyes were bright, hazel in the iris, his hair soft lemon blond, falling down into the gentle stubble around his cheeks.

She didn't think she had the right to ask questions, but she did regardless, she had not been spoken to with genuine nicety in so long. She wanted to take advantage of it. 'Why am I here? What do the rebels want with me?' He was offering her a glass of water when she was done, helping her to sit up before he handed it to her.

He was _so _young.

She was gulping down water like she was parched in the desert, an oasis suddenly at her feet. She was worried to pull away and find that she was inhaling sand. She nearly choked when he answered her; 'You were on Haymitch Abernathy's list, ma'am.'

'I'm really safe,' she was hesitant, but the boy only nodded with an encouraging smile. He reminded her so much of Peeta. She wanted to wrap her arms around his waist and hug the boy for his sweet nature. She wanted to ask if he was there, if he had ended up in District 13 as she had, but she didn't want to hear bad news from gentle lips. 'Can I see Haymitch?' her voice was quiet, a little rough, The Capitol scared away.

He nodded again, refilling her glass before he left the room.

Effie was plunged into silence, the room stopping after the sweet boy had left. Was he her doctor? She did not know. Surely not. She stared at her lap, purple hands fidgeting. She was covered in bruises, blue and black, some purple and gold. They had painted her the bloody picture of treason.

She studied the small marks on her arms, cuts and scars, her stomach churning as she sat in wait. When the injuries became too much she stared at the walls, so alike to her prison cell. Paranoid, Effie feared that she was not safe at all. This was not District 13, she was still in The Capitol, they were still looking for information. They were drugging her into a hallucination. She would talk to Haymitch, she would tell him everything, she would condemn herself to hell.

The door slid open, again. She jumped, her nerves on edge, her eyes blown wide as she stared at the man in the doorway. He was wearing the same grey jumpsuit as her boy doctor, a grey knitted beanie pulled over the top of his dirty blond hair. His eyes were the same seam grey she fell in love with, a little unfocused, it was his posture that told her something was different. Told her he wasn't right.

'You're not real!' her voice rose to a shrill shriek. A noise she never allowed herself to make in captivity. A noise she always made internally. The noise she heard Johanna and Peeta call out in.

'Princess,' he sighed, the breath escaping his lungs as he moved towards her slowly. 'I'm here, I'm real. It's okay.' Haymitch reached out to take hold of her wrists. His attempt to hold down her flying arms only lead to her fighting for control, begging for him to let go as she broke down into heavy sobs.

She didn't want to cry, not in front of him, not in front of _them_. This was a game. They wanted to watch her break on a whole new level.

'You're not real,' she whispered as he leant in close. He didn't smell of whisky or sweat. He was clean, generic soap, washing powder. He wasn't right. 'Haymitch,' she sighed as he pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering longer than a hallucination would. 'This isn't real. They're playing with me, I'm not here. District 13, it's gone. It's been gone a long_, long_ time.'

Haymitch only shook his head, sad and a little controlled as he leant back into a chair beside her bed. 'Effie, this is real.' He kept saying it, it was all he felt he could really say. He laughed when she shook her head, complaining about details, he didn't look right, his eyes were lighter.

His laughter was almost a roar, so loud she flinched in front of him. 'I'm sober.' Her body relaxed, although how she found the excuse of his sobriety so easy to swallow, he did not know.

'Peeta?'

'Safe. Katniss, too. She's here with Prim and her mother. Everyone's okay, Effie, the team is okay.' _Your family is safe._ But, Etta, he wouldn't know to mention her. 'Finnick, Annie, and Johanna too, they're all here. All safe.' He sighed when she did, watching as her body visibly relaxed. He could cross off paranoid from the list, and hijacked. He was happy to know she wasn't treated the same as the boy, brainwashed into hating them all.

He watched her breathe for a moment, her eyes closed in thought before he spoke again, with a relieved sigh, 'we looked, _all over, _for you and the boy.' Her eyes opened, watching him quietly, listening, it was so rare for Haymitch to display emotion. She wasn't anything to him, a good lay when he wanted it, sure, but nothing special. She was starting to rethink that; he had her on his _list_. 'You were barely hanging on when the team pulled you out of there. You've been out for weeks since, you're not in goo-'

He stopped, distracted, as her hand flew out to catch his. 'Haymitch, we have to get back to The Capitol.' He laughed, shaking his head as he looked at the frazzled woman. Her cheeks were sunken, her face too thin, too pale. He had seen her without make-up more than once. On the nights when they sought each other out, after everyone had gone to bed. She was glorious beyond compare, almost District without the gaudy make-up and couture. She was full pink cheeks and big eyes, her hair was like silk as it curved with the contours of his palm. When they stopped pretending it was a tension reliever, when they started sharing a bed, refusing to share a label, he would curl the light blonde ringlets around his fingers, chasing them endlessly.

'There is a war going on out there, Princess,'

'We _have _to go back. _Someone_ has to go back.' She was desperate, her clear blue eyes stormed like the sea, turning dark in their depths with her urgent need.

'When the war is over, we'll go back.'

Effie shook her head. 'No! We need to go _now_.'

'Why? Why is this so important to you, why can't it wait?'

Effie dropped her head, 'my daughter.'

'Daughter?' his voice was a bark, accusing and loud.

She only continued to whisper, 'I need to find her. She's only a little girl.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Effie, you don't have a bloody daughter.' Effie only nodded her head, repeating _yes I do_, as she moved. Tears ran across her cheeks, children racing down the hills. 'They recovered everyone from the training centre, there were no children.'

She shook her head, she couldn't look him in the eye. Instead she focused on her hands, her wrists, noting the finger shaped marks left around the bone. Some days they held her down, some days they ripped her clothes and touched her with dirty hands. She tried to forget, to burn it out of her memory. Replace it with her daughter, with Haymitch. But the prints, the marks, they hadn't left her, they had been burnt as a reminder.

'I don't think they have her.' She told him, her eyes daring to dart towards his incredulous face with hope and disbelief in her words.

'Effie, the city is in tatters, she could be _fucking_ anywhere. We can't go back in, it's too dangerous for us or a team.'

'She's only four-and-a-half, please, Haymitch, she's a _baby._ She still wants me to sing her lullabies and kiss her teddies goodnight. Please, she's my baby. I don't think they've found her.' Her voice was a rough whisper, tears burning in her eyes as she stared vacantly around the room. Searching for something, looking for a way out.

Haymitch scrubbed a large hand over his face, his head throbbed, his chest ached, his tongue had a particular taste for liquor. 'Effie,' his voice was stern, assertive, 'The Games, they ended almost five months ago. The Capitol is falling apart, but it could take longer, it could take another couple of months, it could take a year before this is done, before we can get back in. Your daughter,' he stopped, looked at her, watching as her hallow face stared off at the wall. There was something missing in her eyes, they were still brilliant, a little tired, but they were quiet now. 'Your daughter, if she's not already _dead_ could be before we get there.'

A broken sob cracked through her throat, as Haymitch slid his hand across the bed to grasp hers. She pulled away from him, sharply, despite her heavy hands. He watched her shoulders shake, he didn't want to tell her that, he didn't want to tell her that her daughter was dead. She would be. What were the chances of a four-year-old surviving on her own in the rebellion? A couple of weeks was possible, months; he really doubted it.

Coin had already ordered bombing to the city, he didn't want to tell Effie that. He knew her apartment was close to the centre, he knew they aimed there; a lot.

There was simply no way Coin would allow another team to be sent into The Capitol for a little girl. A singular child no one knew about.

Effie mumbled something quietly. He missed her words, but knew they were important. 'What was that?' he asked, leaning in, thinking it was forgiveness.

_She's your daughter. _

His heart skipped a beat. 'Effie, don't, don't do this to push me. It won't make me find a way to get to her.' That was a lie. If she was alive, if Effie wasn't lying, he would find her.

'I wouldn't have kept her a secret if she wasn't yours.'

…

_Absolutely not_, was President Coin's response. Haymitch asked for three men and a hovercraft that could get them in and out of The Capitol. Effie swore her daughter would be in their apartment. It would be in and out, get the girl and get out.

No.

Not even for her.

Etta Jane Abernathy.

Daughter of a Victor.

…

She was quiet in Thirteen, but so were the others. Their place in the world had been taken from them and put upon a higher pedestal. Katniss did not want to be the face of the rebellion, in simply being herself, she never asked for it.

Katniss sat with Effie quietly in their makeshift studio. They were supposed to collaborate on a script for the propos. Effie did all the work. Katniss tried to swallow the words. They liked the silence between them, it was comfortable, more familiar than sentences and begotten conversation.

There were days where Effie was happy with the script, she would still join Katniss, a salvaged dress in her hands, sewing kit by her hip. She didn't know where the dress had come from, but she had it, it provided as a distraction.

'You have a daughter,' Katniss remarked in the empty studio, her voice echoing just a little. Effie stared, her shoulder's hunching over as she wriggled a little further down the bench they were sitting on. 'It's okay,' Katniss held her hands up, peace, no harm. 'Haymitch told me.'

'Sorry,' Effie shook herself in an attempt to shoo away her paranoia. 'I'm not used to sharing her.' Katniss only gave her a fleeting smile, apologetic for asking. 'I didn't think Haymitch cared enough to mention her to anyone.'

'He's certainly not okay with the idea of a daughter, but, he can see what she means to you.' She didn't want to tell Effie that there had been nights where Haymitch would hide with her, his mouth prattling off his worries. _Bloody Effie_, and _daughter_ were constantly thrown around. Katniss never asked. She knew about his nightmares, faintly knew about his family, his girl. This would only be icing on the ever crumbling cake. If he lost that child, if she was dead when they finally got to her, it would be the end.

'What's her name?' the girl asked, it was the one thing Haymitch never said. Her name.

'Her name was Etta.' Effie said with mourning, her child already lost. She had been in District 13 for three weeks, the war raging for twenty-three. There had been a time when she had given up, accepted her fate, her surrender. She was ready to die. Selfishly leaving her daughter behind. Effie hated herself for the thought. Believed it would be the reason as to why they would find her daughter dead.

Katniss hummed, 'you and Haymitch in one person. I bet that's the most stubborn and resilient kid the world has ever seen.' She avoided Effie's gloom, trying to remain in the positive. It was probably better if she gave the woman a little hope.

'She's gentle,' Effie whispered, nit-picking at her stitch, 'forgiving, completely sweet. She can be stubborn, but, she doesn't get to exercise it much.'

'She will,' Katniss only watched the woman's hand's fidget, pulling at the fabric helplessly. 'We're all a little stubborn here, but once she realises it's safe, that she can push buttons, she'll shine. Haymitch will probably pull his hair out.'

Effie let silence collapse between them, small smile on her face as she thought of what Katniss had said.

'Thank you,' she whispered, voice still hoarse from screaming, from being choked within inches of her life.

'For what?'

'Hope.'

Katniss shrugged, 'we're a team.' She watched the light flicker across Effie's eyes, recognition, _hope_. 'You know, I put her on my list. Haymitch did too. We won't cooperate until she's safe. I bet,' Katniss was chuckling before the words came out, 'if there is so much as a scratch on her face, Haymitch will put up a fuss. He'll probably refuse to help for a couple of days. Coin will have to relent, we won't help until she does.'

'It's, it is difficult to get into The Capitol; they can't.' Even though he was fighting it, Haymitch forced her to swallow that pill of information. He wanted to help her, and he was trying, but he could not have her believing that it was as simple as snapping her fingers.

Katniss scoffed, 'they managed to get you and Peeta out of a building teeming with Peacekeepers. I think they can manage to pull a little girl out of a less secure place.'

…

Etta was starving.

Her stomach growled angrily as she sat on the floor, staring at the dry puddle of her mother's blood. There were crackers in the cupboard, on the highest shelf, she could see them but she didn't know if she could reach them.

Her stomach growled angrily, this time a little harsher than it had been. She was scared. Never had she gone hungry in her life. In her little girl mind, Etta half thought a creature was going to pull itself out of her and gobble her up, she was so hungry.

On wobbly legs she wandered into the kitchen. A dining chair was sitting by the bench, left behind on her last attempt to find food in the threadbare cupboards.

Her mother taught her that climbing the furniture was simply not allowed. She had been an adventurous little girl, scaling the back of the sofa, climbing up onto the TV cabinet. The kitchen bench did not scare her. The above head cupboards did.

Despite how scared she was, Etta climbed without hesitation, hands and legs shaking as she gripped the sturdy wood desperate for the food that would sedate her angry stomach.

…

'Haymitch, please, _calm down_.' Her voice was tired, strained, quiet enough to tell him that she had given up on the fight, on the argument. Her hands were up, held out in front of her body, quietly suggesting what her words were saying.

She sat tiredly on the end of his bed, watching as the man paced up and down the compartment bursting at the seams. He fumed, face almost red as he let slander and curses fall from his lips. President Coin, beloved, best intentions for District 13, President Coin had approved the go-ahead for Katniss, Johanna and Finnick to enter The Capitol. _For the propos, make it look like they're in battle_, she had said looking him right in the eye as she did so.

'They can pretend to fight, but I can't go look for a little girl. Three men, I asked for, three! A month ago she couldn't spare the men, the hovercraft, now she's got enough people and resources to send the kids out!'

'They're not really fighting, Haymitch.'

'It's a waste of resources and she knows it,' Effie sighed, her shoulders rising up before falling back down, hunching forward a little. Her posture was still immaculate, but it was giving under the strain of her emotional turmoil. '_Fuck,_' he kicked at the bed beside her legs, causing Effie to startle slightly. 'This wouldn't be happening right now if you had just _fucking _told me about her in the first place.'

'I didn't tell you as a means to keep her safe. You did not need to know Haymitch, don't argue otherwise. You don't want children. How was I to know that you were planning a _rebellion_,' she hissed, 'and you were to leave me behind. Leave me to be tortured in the wake of your selfish desires.' She huffed quietly, listening to the silence, to the thrum that was District 13. 'You should have _told me_, regardless of Etta's existence or not. I should have known about this. I wanted to help. I would have helped.'

Haymitch was silent, his hand pressed to his forehead, his fingers in his hair. He thought she would be safe if he didn't involve her, he did not think The Capitol would touch her. But, they did. And they broke her away from her daughter in the process.

The minutes passed, drowning in their agony, in their passion. He wanted so fiercely to reconnect them, if only to watch the way they lived. He wasn't suited to that life, as a victor, he wasn't destined. Family was out of the question; and yet, there it was. He was curious, but above all else, he was focused on fixing the mistakes he had made for Effie.

'Please tell me you're not just doing this because I told you she was yours.' She wasn't looking at him when he spun at breakneck speed to face her. She focused her eyes on her hands, holding her feet together as she pulled them up onto his bed.

Haymitch knew that Effie saw how broken she was. He caught her staring at the floor, almost as though she was looking at the shattered pieces of herself, mourning the parts she could not pick back up and glue back on. She was bright and bubbly and ignorant, he had once hated those things about her. Then, then she grew on him. The colour was still gaudy, no matter what she wore, but it was _colour_ a reminder of things bright and sweet. She was contrasting to his District home, as The Capitol liked to be. He would sometimes notice the wildflowers sprouting in his yard; he liked to match their colours to her hair, her make-up, her dress. Her bubbly personality and stickler for rules only managed to irritate him, but it was who she was, the pieces she used to hold herself up, like he did liquor. He had learnt, long ago, three years into their partnership that Effie Trinket wasn't always as she sounded. Her voice was softer; her opinion slowly gravitated towards honesty, not the trash The Capitol force fed her.

Her ignorance kept her safe, until she stopped being so ignorant and opened her eyes.

'She's your daughter.' His hand found her shoulder, squeezing softly. When she looked up in surprise he caught her eye. Complete belief. Complete honesty. 'I'm going to go speak with Coin, again.'

…

She was standing beside him, her frail arm wrapped around his larger one. He was the one to interlock their fingers, entwining their hands in a messy knot, where one began, the other tried to end. He was hesitant to initiate it, unaware if touching her was a form of leading her on, or not. None the less, they both needed and sought out the comfort.

Effie was standing in the hanger with her forehead on his shoulder, her blonde hair curtaining her face. It was for the best. He could feel the tension in her forehead enough to know that she had her eyes squeezed closed. She was trying not to cry, or at least to hold her composure.

Haymitch squeezed her hand periodically as they listened to the debrief. He was going, finally, to The Capitol. The war had broken out, if it had not been safe earlier, it definitely was not safe now.

Katniss and her team were in more strife than they should have been. Haymitch wouldn't repeat, but Effie knew enough to be worried. She knew enough to hold his hand with a death grip minutes before he had to leave.

She was shaking, trembling like a puppy as Luther spoke low and stern, explaining their mission and the dangers. _In and out_, he said, they just had to make it to the building to find the girl, and get out. If she's not there, they are simply to leave. _The war will be done shortly, if she is not where her mother says then she will have to wait until the war is won._

'She'll be there, she will, I know she will.' She was whispering against his arm, her head lolling left to right. He shifted his head to the left, gentling pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he squeezed her hand harder.

…

The bombs fell.

One.

Two.

Three.

Etta cried silently, hot tears slipping down her cheeks. Light flashed outside the window, the glass rattling in the frames. It was like thunder, she realised, and a lightning storm. This time her mother wasn't there to comfort her. There were no stories of dashing heroes and strong princesses. It was just the harsh light and the loud thud, then the sound of people screaming. She heard the roar of building's crumbling, but she did not know what it meant.

With her arms wrapped around her small body, Etta stared at the wide window, listening to the pandemonium that arose up to her. Adrenaline refused her sleep, refused to allow her weak body to collapse. She gripped the hands of Beatrice and Clementine, a grey fabric bunny with a vibrant floral skirt.

She took to using her animals as emotional support, not that they ever spoke back. Squeezing their hands was a small comfort as The Capitol was attacked. She cried, little body jumping with each blow as her mother's titled seeped out of her lips, begging for the woman to come home.

…

He never really payed attention to The Capitol on the odd chance in which he spent his time there. He couldn't tell anyone who asked, what colour the sidewalk was, or where the best eatery was located. He couldn't entirely tell you what The Capitol was like at all. But now, boots crunching across the gravel laden streets he knew it was different, he knew it should have looked a lot tidier than it did.

The streets were empty, the buildings collapsing. Some were standing still, almost bending in the breeze. It was not good, not safe, and certainly not the place for a little girl. Haymitch just hoped, that Effie's building was one that was seemingly unaffected.

His chest ached for the child who had to spend night and day listening to the bombs drop and the buildings fall.

Haymitch lead the team through the streets quickly, watching out for Peacekeepers or pesky civilians. He had a feeling the area had been evacuated, but held no doubt that some people would have chosen to remain in their homes.

Effie's building, thankfully, was untouched. It looked war worn, but it was still in one piece.

He wasted no time in slipping through the front door and climbing the stairs as he counted the numbers on walls. Haymitch did not have to double check Effie's handwritten address when he came across door #10. A nasty red flyer had been stapled to the hard wood, announcing that the resident who had once lived inside was taken as a prisoner for treason against the president.

Haymitch felt sick. He could not comprehend what happened that night. Surely she had put Etta to bed before settling down to watch The Games. They would usually have been in the penthouse, at the training centre, but he told her to go home, to have the night off. She would have watched it anyway, in the safe surrounding of her belongings.

He wondered how long it would have taken for the Peacekeepers to storm her apartment. Did she have time to sit there in panic over what Katniss had done, had she tried to call him at the penthouse, did her neighbours rap on her door?

How long did she have before it was all over? Did she know that they would come for her? He certainly thought she was safe.

Luther stepped forward to pick the lock on the door. With the building being in good condition, they worried residents were still around. There was no use in calling out and knocking down doors if it would just alert residents, whom would call Peacekeepers. It was a tactical assignment, they were to go about it quietly.

With the door unlocked and popped open, Haymitch took it upon himself to be the first to enter. His heart caught in his throat, the air was dry, humid, almost stale, but still moving. It didn't smell like death, not yet. He could smell the lingering tones of blood, the small mark on the floor just ahead of the door told him it was most likely Effie's.

He didn't waste time in checking the kitchen. It looked rummaged through, but still somewhat clean. A dining chair lent against a bench. The open living, dining, and kitchen space was void of any children marks. No toys, no drawings, no pictures. Effie would have had it that way on purpose, people could come into her home, look in, and not see that she shared the space with a child.

No questions would be asked.

It had been a long time since he had last stepped foot in her apartment, before Etta was born. He couldn't remember the particulars, but he knew he had been there. He took a left from the living room, entering the hallway that housed Etta's room, as per Effie's directions.

Her room was lavender with moss green and white furniture. Toys were scattered across surfaces and the floor. There was a shelf full of books and pictures hanging on the walls. Baby Etta at various stages, a few even taken in the park. Haymitch grabbed a framed picture of Effie sitting in the grass, her face was covered in a bright smile, not marred by make-up, as she wore a simple dress and stared at her little baby. He assumed her sister, Delphi, had something to do with the timing and taking of the picture. He was only glad that it existed, his heart aching at the sight. He shoved it into a bag on his back, knowing Effie would like to have it in her possession again.

Etta's room was empty, aside from her belongings.

He grabbed a few more pictures, one or two that he personally liked or felt held a special moment. If they could not come back, if the building was ruined or the rebellion flipped, he knew she would miss the photographs of her daughter as a baby.

Effie's room was next. The air in there was worse, although the door was ajar it was stale, richer, smelt of filth. 'Etta?' he called out quietly, knowing this was the last possible room she could be hiding in. Left uncheck by his eyes were only the bathroom and a small laundry room. If she wasn't here, she wasn't there at all.

He heard fabric rustle slightly.

The sheets on Effie's bed had been stripped off, removed and taken elsewhere. It was the only place, aside from the child's room that was somewhat messy. Scanning the semi dark room, Haymitch noted that the wardrobe door was left slightly open. Creeping towards it he called out the girl's name, again, 'it's alright, we're not going to hurt you, Etta. Are you there?'

He pulled the wardrobe door open slightly, the hinges creaking with the effort. His chest heaved and fell, exhaling a breath he didn't even notice he was holding. There, in the corner of the wardrobe, underneath Effie's clothes, and next to her shoes, lay a little girl with dirty blonde hair and seam grey eyes, wrapped in her mother's linens.

'Oh, Etta,' he wanted to cry at the sight of her looking up at him lazily. She was exhausted, frail, possibly starving. There were bags under her little girl eyes that should not show themselves until her teens.

'Are you a bad man?' her voice croaked as she asked him timidly, pulling herself further into the corner. His chest contracted, his heart shattered. She had been there for months, six or seven, he had lost count. She was left abandoned after her mother was taken, but he found her, she's was alive.

She was dirty, and smelt bad, he knew she hadn't bathed since her mother was taken. Probably too scared to run the water in fear that it would alert someone. Haymitch wasted no time in reaching in and pulling the girl out of her hiding place. She was a ragdoll in his arms, her strength obliterated.

'No, sweetheart, I'm not a bad man.' He settled her on his hip, reaching into the space to pull out a few of the belongings she was hiding with.

'I don't believe you.'

'I'm going to take you to your Mom, I promise. She's waiting for you. She's missed you.' He was trying to push her matted hair off her face and out of her eyes, but, it was no use, her hair was a mess, it refused to sit anywhere but in her eyes.

'I don't believe you.'

Her head lolled on his shoulder. He didn't know if she was falling asleep or losing consciousness. He palmed her drink bottle off to one of the men in the hallway, instructing him to fill it using is canteen. Etta was slipping off his hip, her body didn't have the strength to latch onto his side in order to hold herself up.

He would not let her go. He promised himself, and Effie, that when he found the girl she would not leave his arms until she was reunited with her mother.

Etta gulped down the water he offered her, choking on it she was so eager, so thirty. His chest contracted again. This was his fault, he laid the blame. He should not have started sleeping with Effie, had he held his control she would never have ended up pregnant with his child. He should have, in the least, involved her in the rebel plan, he was starting to see the fault in not doing so. How was he so _blind_ to her loyalties.

'Careful, baby girl,' he said without thought as he pulled the drink away from Etta's lips before she could spill anymore of it on herself.

It was quick movement after that, they had the girl, they were to get out of the building.

And then the ground shook, the air got hot, radiating in waves as it reached them. They couldn't see what happened but they knew it was the end.

…

She whimpered on the hovercraft, teetering between wakefulness and the depths of her subconscious. He only held her, offering her water, in the intervals she seemed her most alert.

He cradled her like she was a smaller child, holding her tight, as he whispered 'you're safe' over and over, until he felt it completely. Until he, himself, believed she was safe.

…

Haymitch spotted Effie before she saw them. Waiting on the platform for the hovercraft she trembled, no one beside her to hold her up. She was chewing on her fingernails, a habit he knew she had from time to time. It wasn't one she indulged in frequently.

It worried him to see her so frazzled. He was just glad they found Etta, that she was alive, albeit weak, but alive. 'Etta,' he whispered to the girl, finger stroking her cheek in an attempt to rouse her. 'Etta, sweetheart, I made good on your promise, your Momma's just there.' He was pointing with the same finger he was using to tap at her cheek. Her head, propped on his shoulder, shifted slightly, but not enough for him to stop his concern.

She was dehydrated, malnourished and completely filthy. He wanted to take her straight to the infirmary, have Prim or her mother pump the girl with as much food and water as she could tolerate before he was happy with her state.

He had to give her to Effie first. He had to give the woman her baby back.

'Etta!' It was Effie, her voice raised in order for them to hear her as she moved, on unsteady feet across the hanger to reach them. She almost crashed into Haymitch in her haste. Her hands were shaking as she pried her daughter out of his hands and into her arms. 'Oh god,' she was muttering small nothings as she cried, her body half propped up by his as she held her barely conscious child. 'I thought she was there, with the others. I was so worried, oh god, oh god.' She was peppering kisses all over her daughter's face, calling her baby, telling her she was so sorry.

'Effie,' Haymitch started, eyes scanning the bunker. 'What happened?' he was curious, almost paranoid, but something was not right in the bunker, in the District. He was certain that it had something to do with the explosion they heard.

'Bombs,' she stuttered, cradling her little girl, 'the children, they bombed the children in The Capitol.' He didn't get much more out of her as he lead the woman with his hand on her back towards the infirmary. 'Most of the medics have gone, even little Prim, she went to help.' Prim. He didn't like the sound of the young girl anywhere near a bomb or a battlefield. Katniss tried too hard to keep her baby sister alive to let her anywhere near that danger.

'Effie, Haymitch,' Rosalie Everdeen met them at the door, her face grim but somewhat elated at the sight of Etta. 'Not all of the bombs went off the first time. There was a second round.' The woman told them, her face grey as she helped Effie lay her daughter on one of the empty beds.

'Any details?'

Rosalie only shook her head. 'Coin will be looking for you,' she told Haymitch, giving the man permission to leave as she hooked the small girl up to an IV. Effie was shaking, trembling horribly again as she watched her daughter with the same grim face Rosalie held. He wanted to stay where he was, his hands on her arms, holding her back, securing her.

'Go,' Effie told him, promising with her hands on his cheeks that she would be okay. 'Thank you,' she kissed him softly, her hands drifting from his cheeks and down his arms. 'Thank you for finding her.' She squeezed his hands, pecking his lips as she did. She was still worried, but her daughter was in front of her, Ms. Everdeen promising that she would be alright.

He kissed her one last time, his lips lingering on her hers just a little _too_ long for friendly.

…

Katniss was a mess.

She was out for the count, heavily sedated for her wounds, for her memories. He could not sit with her too long, her injuries turning his stomach if he watched her for too many hours. He checked on her regularly, his hand brushing across her hair, as he promised her it was all over, the war was done. Coin was taking control of The Capitol, there would be no more Games, no more Mockingjay, she could spend the rest of her life quietly.

It was Peeta he sat with the longest. The boy, unlike Katniss, woke occasionally. They'd been out for a week, the girl still had miles to go but Peeta was pulling through. He realised, that he never spent much time with the boy, he spent time with him, just not as much as he did Katniss. The girl was almost like his pride and joy; he revelled in her attitude, related to it. Katniss came to him when she had problems, the little of them that existed. Peeta, on the other hand, went to Effie. Effie loved him for it.

The kids had changed his life. Not just in the way of rebellion, but suddenly, for the first time in years since they had won, he felt responsible for someone, responsible for their lives. Funny, how he had a daughter at the time, and didn't even know her.

He thought he wasn't cut out to be a father, but he already was. He already gave the pep talks and parental advice, he already tore his heart out in the name of those kids, he already knew what it felt like to have a family, again.

Sat back in the chair beside Peeta's bed, he watched the boy's chest rise and fall, he listened to the heart monitor beep and for the third time that day remembered that he hadn't called Effie yet. He promised to keep her informed on the children's progress. _Mom was always worried. _He didn't know how he hadn't saw it before, too blind to acknowledge the truth, and now to stubborn to completely accept that he was wrong.

He pulled the phone out of his back pocket, a contraption Coin had allowed him during his time in The Capitol. He dialled through to District 13, the phone communication relay having been open for the duration of the week.

Effie answered groggily, '_'lo_, _Haymi'ch?_' he had woken her up and it was only eight at night. '_Are the kids alright?_' she asked straight away, voice already more alert.

'They're fine.' He told her simply, tone quiet once he had heard her sleepy voice. 'Katniss is still out, they expect it to last a couple more days. Peeta too, they're just sedating him though, no real reason, he just gets a little angry when he wakes up.' Effie hummed a quiet _all right_. 'How's Etta? How are you?' He swore he could hear her surprised intake of shock on the other end of the phone.

'_Much better. Rosalie left, you know that, but Jackson is just as good a doctor, he's pumped her full of fluids and making sure she eats. She's just really sleepy. And, she's eager to meet you.' _

'What did you tell her?'

Effie sighed, almost with irritation, '_Nothing. She wants to meet the not-so-bad-man who saved her, Mr Abernathy is a big question in her day when she is awake.' _

Haymitch paused, scared, cautious, 'ah, it's her birthday soon, right?' Effie hummed again, he loved the small affirmative sound she made when she was tired. She had been doing it for years, it felt like home; having her hum at him quietly, in the dark, across the phone line.

'_Tomorrow.'_ It was a said omission. He knew why, she didn't want her daughter to spend her birthday stuck in a hospital bed in a District bellow the ground. That wasn't what birthdays were made of.

The question was niggling at him, Etta's birthday. Effie had mentioned it in passing and he hadn't quite known if he was supposed to take interest or not.

'After this is all over, Effie, you can leave Thirteen, you won't have to stay there. Your life will be yours again.'

'_Haymitch,' _her voice was quiet. '_I, ah, I have to go.' _He knew she had nothing pressing happening, it was possible that Etta was awake, but he let her go without a fight knowing she didn't want to talk about the future. Slipping the phone back into his pocket he watched Peeta sleep.

He would move oceans for that boy and Katniss, hell, he had already tried in some form. Watching as he slept, daemons prowling in his head, destroying the sweet boy he used to be Haymitch felt nothing but guilt. He could have protected them a lot better than what he had.

He could have been there for Etta.

…

The hovercraft didn't land in District 13 until quarter past twelve at night. He was quiet in the corridors, knowing most were empty now that men and women were taken to The Capitol. Unrest was not settled but many of Thirteen's people helped in the war effort and were thus, needed.

The infirmary was dead quiet, a young doctor or two were hanging around, offering help to those who would need it in their sleep. They would usually have stopped late night visitors, but they let him slip into Etta's room without a fight.

Effie was asleep, her head propped up on her daughter's bed, her hands tucked underneath it. She looked uncomfortable, but he knew being near her daughter even after being reunited with her for a week, was not going to stop Effie from letting her out of her sight.

He dropped a kiss to her soft hair. It didn't smell like flowers anymore, instead she smelt the same way he did, nothing exciting, boring, genetically mass produced shampoo. Etta was next, he didn't know why, but he dropped a kiss to her head too, as he tucked a stuffed bear under her arm.

Etta stirred, her eyes fluttering open gently to look at him. She was scared for a second, her sleepy eyes unfocused before she realised who he was. 'Mr. Ab'nathy!' she whispered ecstatically, careful not to wake her sleeping mother up. 'You brought me, Beatrice and Clementine, oh I missed them.' She grinned, her smile so wide he feared it would wrap around her whole face and split her in two. The girl squished the stuffed animals against her chest with tender loving force.

Haymitch beamed, genuinely over the moon that he had done something right for the girl. That he had picked the right toys to bring to her. He had stopped by Effie's apartment on his mission to see his daughter on her birthday. Thinking she would appreciate a gift, he thought something from home was better than something from the tainted Capitol. He was right, surprisingly.

Etta pulled herself out of her blankets and climbed across the bed, only to throw herself into his arms. She was so small, he realised, but now, even after a week, already heavier than what she had been when he found her. Her skin was pinker, her cheeks fuller. He was scared to hold her, scared to pull out wires and tubes. But, the girl was unattached. She was completely fine.

'I, ah, I brought a few more things from your home, I thought you would like, some pyjamas.' He really didn't know what she would like, he just grabbed things left and right that would be appropriate in District 13. Pyjamas wouldn't hurt anyone. And even if they did cause a stir amongst Thirteen's citizens, Haymitch hardly cared. He wanted to spoil the little girl.

Haymitch sat with her, the girl still in his arms, moving to cuddle against his chest once he was sitting. She barely knew him and yet she was so trusting with her life in his hands. He supposed, he did already save her life once, it wasn't as though he would bring her harm.

'Why did you come, Mr. Ab'nathy?' she asked him, her little voice like a mouse as she looked up at him from behind her thick eyelashes.

He whispered back, 'it's your birthday, little bug.'

Her eyes blew wide, like she forgot to turn an appliance off, all the while excited for the day ahead. 'Really? What time is it?'

'Just past midnight'

'Mommy says I wasn't born until this many,' she held up three little fingers in front of her grey eyes, 'in the morning.'

'Oh, okay. We've still got some time then. Maybe you should go back to bed.' He picked her up easily, no longer afraid, or needing to do so out of necessity to save her. She was light and warm in his arms, gentle and loved.

He tucked her back into the bed, Effie still undisturbed as they straightened out the linen and tucked it under Etta's chin. A stray blanket was wrapped around her mother.

Etta grabbed hold of his hand, as he tried to move away, making him sit in the chair, leaving his hand on the matrass while she played with his fingers. She was out in seconds, her little face relaxing in sleep.

He watched her breathe, like he did with Peeta and Katniss, adding the girl to his list of people he would move the world for. Effie was already on there, had been for years without his realising, but her daughter, with gentle freckles and pure spirit was added to the very top.

He didn't think he could lose his heart completely to someone ever again, not after his family was killed. But, he had, the beating organ sat in Etta's little, capable hands, entrusted and safe.

He was playing with her hair, just how he had played with her mothers, smoothing it back on her scalp, breaking occasionally to wrap a strand around his finger, coiling it before he let it go. He didn't know how long he sat there doing that for, but eventually he lent in, pressed a kiss to her head and whispered in her ear;

'Etta,' he started, voice so quiet he strained to hear it. It was her judgement that would let him free, and finally, he let go of his heart, promising it to her, trusting it in her care. 'Sweetheart, I'm your daddy.'

…

One Year Later.

'Daddy!' she cried, his title dragged out and stuttered as she ran towards him with arms wide open. Her feet kicked up dirt as she ran along the road, face painted in a smile just for him, a look he never thought would be reserved by his daughter. He caught her as soon as she was close; throwing her up in the air he peppered kisses across her skin. 'I missed you _so_ much.' It was almost a whine as she kissed her father's cheek. 'I'm going with next time.'

Haymitch had gone to The Capitol for a week, to discuss District rehabilitation with Paylor. Etta, who had accompanied him once before, with Effie several months earlier had not joined him the second time because she had to go to school. A fact the girl despised.

She loved school, thrived with the other children, albeit she was a little hesitant and awkward at first. Etta just happened to have a stellar personality and the good chance of having a mother who did not force Capitol life and style on her child from the second she was born. She only hated school when it got in the way of plans her parents kept.

Like, visits to The Capitol, or spending the afternoon with Peeta, whom she adored.

'Have you been good?' Haymitch asked, knowing the girl was trouble. She liked to misbehave only because they let her get away with it, mostly. She was a free spirit in District 12, a child in love with flowers and the grass, she rather climb trees than listen to her mother talk about couture.

When she reached a little higher on his hip, her hand cupping his ear he knew she was up to trouble. 'Mommy has a surprise.' She told him, giggling into his neck as he tickled her side for being a tattle tale. 'She says it's a work in prog-ress,' she broke the word down to pronounce it. 'That means it takes some time.' Haymitch chuckled, thanking her for the explanation, pretending as though he had no idea.

He watched Effie as they approached, the dirt crunching under their feet. Paylor had promised asphalt for all Districts, transforming them into communities rather than forced living. People have moved now, deciding their new homes, but she still had hope to make it better.

Effie was standing in the doorway to their home, large, impressive smile on her face. She already knew that Etta had told him, he did not doubt that it was part of her plan. He grinned back at her, genuinely happy to see the mother of his child and the woman who shared his bed.

'_Surprise?_' he mouthed to her, far too impatient to wait until he reached her. Effie smoothed her hands down her clothes and shrugged. Etta was good at playing games, but Effie was better. The girl had to learn from someone.

The last time Effie Trinket surprised him, it was with a daughter he didn't know existed.

Once upon a time he thought something like that would ruin him, would be his point of breaking and that he would most certainly be broken. But now, he knew he was wrong. There was nothing better in his life than the woman who loved him and his little girl. No one was going to take them from him.

He could tell from the smile on her face that she was taking him for a ride, whatever she had waiting or planned he knew it couldn't be too bad.

There were worse games to play. There were worse ways for his life to turn out. There were alternatives where his daughter was dead and Effie had left him. But, they were there, happy and smiling, giggling and contriving of tricks and _surprises_ he was all too eager to be lead blindly into.


End file.
